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And I with him, and many moe with me,

Upon the altar at Saint Edmundsbury;

Even on that altar where we swore to you

Dear amity and everlasting love.

SALISBURY.

May this be possible? May this be true?

MELUN.

Have I not hideous death within my view,

Retaining but a quantity of life,

Which bleeds away even as a form of wax

Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire?

What in the world should make me now deceive,

Since I must lose the use of all deceit?

Why should I then be false, since it is true

That I must die here, and live hence by truth?

I say again, if Lewis do will the day,

He is forsworn if e'er those eyes of yours

Behold another day break in the east;

But even this night, whose black contagious breath

Already smokes about the burning crest

Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun,

Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire,

Paying the fine of rated treachery

Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives.

If Lewis by your assistance win the day.

Commend me to one Hubert, with your King;

The love of him-and this respect besides,

For that my grandsire was an Englishman-

Awakes my conscience to confess all this.

In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence

From forth the noise and rumour of the field,

Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts

In peace, and part this body and my soul

With contemplation and devout desires.

SALISBURY.

We do believe thee; and beshrew my soul

But I do love the favour and the form

Of this most fair occasion, by the which

We will untread the steps of damned flight,

And like a bated and retired flood,

Leaving our rankness and irregular course,

Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd,

And calmly run on in obedience

Even to our ocean, to great King John.

My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;

For I do see the cruel pangs of death

Right in thine eye. Away, my friends! New flight,

And happy newness, that intends old right.

Exeunt, leading off

MELUN

SCENE 5.

England. The French camp

Enter LEWIS and his train

LEWIS.

The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set,

But stay'd and made the western welkin blush,

When English measure backward their own ground

In faint retire. O, bravely came we off,

When with a volley of our needless shot,

After such bloody toil, we bid good night;

And wound our tott'ring colours clearly up,

Last in the field and almost lords of it!

Enter a MESSENGER

MESSENGER.

Where is my prince, the Dauphin?

LEWIS.

Here; what news?

MESSENGER.

The Count Melun is slain; the English lords

By his persuasion are again fall'n off,

And your supply, which you have wish'd so long,

Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands.

LEWIS.

Ah, foul shrewd news! Beshrew thy very heart!

I did not think to be so sad to-night

As this hath made me. Who was he that said

King John did fly an hour or two before

The stumbling night did part our weary pow'rs?

MESSENGER.

Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.

LEWIS.

keep good quarter and good care to-night;

The day shall not be up so soon as I

To try the fair adventure of to-morrow.

Exeunt

SCENE 6.

An open place near Swinstead Abbey

Enter the BASTARD and HUBERT, severally

HUBERT.

Who's there? Speak, ho! speak quickly, or I shoot.

BASTARD.

A friend. What art thou?

HUBERT.

Of the part of England.

BASTARD.

Whither dost thou go?

HUBERT.

What's that to thee? Why may I not demand

Of thine affairs as well as thou of mine?

BASTARD.

Hubert, I think.

HUBERT.

Thou hast a perfect thought.

I will upon all hazards well believe

Thou art my friend that know'st my tongue so well.

Who art thou?

BASTARD.

Who thou wilt. And if thou please,

Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think

I come one way of the Plantagenets.

HUBERT.

Unkind remembrance! thou and eyeless night

Have done me shame. Brave soldier, pardon me

That any accent breaking from thy tongue

Should scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.

BASTARD.

Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad?

HUBERT.

Why, here walk I in the black